Better Read Than Dead (3 page)

“Cool. Now, this wasn’t undergrad but graduate, like you got your master’s, right?”

Cathy chuckled and said, “Yes, that’s correct.”

“And did you also just get hired, or find a new job?”

“I’m going for my third interview at an advertising agency today at three.”

“Great! I have the feeling that you’ll get the job, or they’ll want you, but you may ask for time off before you start or something.”

“Uh . . . I hadn’t planned on it.”

I opened my eyes at that point and looked quizzically at her. “Really? Because my feeling is that you’ll need some time to tend to something before you can start.”

“Uh, no, honest, I can start right away.”

I get this all the time. Sometimes how I phrase something won’t fit a situation exactly at the time I say it, but connects perfectly a little later. I figured this was one of those times, so I didn’t push. “Okay, then just in case you need to attend to something before you start, it’s all right to do that. Also, what’s going on with your headaches?”

“What headaches?” she asked.

I put my hands up to my head as if it hurt and said, “You know, your headaches. Have you gone to the doctor yet about them?”

“I don’t have headaches,” she said, looking at me like I was from Mars.

I checked in with my crew, who were insisting that my information was correct, so I said again, “Well, this is really weird, because the feeling that I get is that you’re going to see the doctor about your headaches, and not to worry; you’ll be fine.”

Cathy just shook her head at me, clearly not understanding. I dropped that subject and asked my crew for something else. “So who’s the skier?” I said.

“The skier?”

“Yeah, the skier. Is there a guy who likes to ski who’s been hitting on you? He’s got dark hair I think?”

“My boyfriend has brown hair,” she said by way of explanation.

“Does he like to ski?”

“Not that I know of.”

I focused a little harder and said, “Is your boyfriend mean to you?”

“No, he’s really sweet.”

“Did you just start dating?”

“No, we met in undergrad three years ago.” Cathy’s tone was beginning to turn from cooperative to impatient.

“Okay, the feeling that I have is that there’s this guy with dark hair and he likes to ski. He’s a real jerk, though. He may hit on you or try to flirt with you, but you shouldn’t have anything to do with him. He’s totally bad news.”

“Is this someone I know?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, he feels new to me, and if you don’t recognize who this guy is by my description then obviously he hasn’t made himself known to you yet. He may come off as being really nice, but he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, so be very careful around him.”

Cathy was just staring at me with a confused look, so I moved on. Now I’m getting something about procrastination. Do you always put stuff off? Like errands or something?”

Finally I got a chuckle out of Cathy and a nod. “Yeah, that would be me.”

“My crew is telling me that you need to spend a little time breaking this habit. They’re specifically saying don’t wait until the last minute to go grocery shopping. You need to take care of business when you should, not put things off.”

“Ugh, I absolutely hate grocery shopping. In fact, I’ve been meaning to go for a couple of days and I haven’t made it there yet.”

“They’re saying take care of business, because if you don’t, it could cause problems—like you could get to the store and it’s closed or you could be late for something else.”

“All right,” she said.

For some reason, though, I couldn’t let this topic go, and the thought kept spinning in my head. “Cathy, I’m not sure what they’re getting at, but this is really important. You can’t put your errands off; they keep repeating it.”

“I get it, tell them message heard.”

Still, the thought persisted to whirl in my mind. I tried for another topic and got nothing but the same message. I closed my eyes and concentrated, but all I could hear in my head was the message about the grocery store. For the first time in four and a half years of being a professional psychic I was stumped. I couldn’t get past this message about Cathy’s errands. After a very long pause I opened my eyes and looked with a pained expression at Cathy. I knew what my guides wanted me to do. “Cathy, you’re going to think I’m crazy, but that’s all I’m getting for you. I can’t move beyond this message about you procrastinating, so I’m just going to stop. I won’t charge you for the session, because we’ve only been at it fifteen minutes. Also I think you should get your errands done before your big interview.”

Cathy looked at me with a rather shocked expression, and finally said, “Uh, okay. That was weird.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, a touch of pink hitting my cheeks. “Listen, if you want to reschedule for another date I’d be more than happy to try again. This has never happened to me before. I don’t understand what’s so important about you going to the grocery store right now, but that’s the only message I can come up with.”

“I see,” she said, looking very disappointed. “How about I call you if I get this job and we can set up another appointment then?”

“Sure,” I said, fully aware that Cathy was giving me the big blow-off. I handed her the cassette tape and walked her to the door. She smiled sheepishly as she took the tape and asked, “Are you sure I don’t owe you anything? I mean, I’m willing to pay you for the time you did spend with me.”

For the second time that day I turned away money I could have used. “No, really, it’s okay. I’m sorry; this has never happened to me before,” I repeated.

“It’s okay, Abby,” she said kindly. “I’ll call you if I get the job and we can try again.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .

One of the pains about having an inboard lie detector is that sometimes courtesy demands you pretend not to know when people are lying. “That’d be great,” I said, smiling politely. “Good luck on your interview.”

She waved at me as she walked through the door, and I rested my head against the doorjamb. So far today I’d nixed a guaranteed night of hot monkey love, a $2 million addition to my bank account, and any potential future business with Cathy and any of her acquaintances. Of all the days I should have stayed in bed, this one had to be a topper.

I sighed and dragged myself back into my office and sat down at the desk, looking for something to interest me before my next appointment. I glanced at the phone and was wondering who I could call to pass the time when it rang, making me jump a foot. Grabbing it, I said, “Abigail Cooper speaking,” in my most business-like tone.

“Hello, sweethot,” smoldered a deep baritone doing a great Humphrey Bogart impression through the receiver.

My slumped shoulders immediately perked up, and a smile plastered itself onto my face. “Hey, there, good-looking. This is a pleasant midafternoon surprise.”

“Yeah, I had a couple of minutes before they partner us up and hand out our assignments, so I thought I’d call and leave something inappropriate on your voice mail.”

“Oh, and instead I get to hear it firsthand. I’m
so
lucky!” I said playfully.

“Or I could just show you tomorrow night—”

My shoulders slumped again. Crap. I’d almost forgotten. “Uh, Dutch? About tomorrow night—”

“I thought I’d pick up some Chinese; you like Chinese?”

“Well, see, the thing of it is—”

“You don’t like Chinese?”

“No. I mean yes, I like Chinese, but there’s a problem with tomorrow night . . .”

“What kind of problem?”

“Uh, do you remember Kendal Adams? He’s that psychic friend of mine who helped cover for me when I was in the hospital. And, um, unfortunately because of that I kind of owe him a favor, and he decided to sort of call in that favor for tomorrow night.”

Silence.

I laughed nervously and continued. “See, he was scheduled to be the entertainment at this wedding reception with another psychic, but that guy had to have an emergency appendectomy. Kendal tried everyone else, but no one but me was available, and so since I sort of owe Kendal, I agreed to do the reception with him. . . .”

Silence.

“It’s not like I
want
to do the party. I mean, I fought really hard to get out of it, and I told him I had other plans, but he was just
relentless,
and he kept saying how I owed him, and, well, I caved. I’m really, really sorry. Can we possibly get together on Saturday instead of Friday?”

The air hung heavy between us for a very long time before finally Dutch said, “I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. We’ll talk then,” and with that he hung up. I held the phone to my ear long enough for the dial tone to come on; then, as tears brushed my lashes, I hung up the phone. Now I could add “boyfriend” to my list of today’s nixes.

 

Several hours later I crawled home, wanting to wave a white flag. My afternoon hadn’t improved, as I’d had three more difficult readings to cap off the day. I opened my front door and was greeted by Eggy, my twelve-pound Dachshund, who slobbered wiggly kisses all over my face as soon as I picked him up. The best part about owning a dog is the wild, wet frenzy they perform when greeting you. It’s enough to make any kind of day just a little bit better.

Eggy wriggled and licked and kissed and squirmed, his tail beating a frantic rhythm against my chest, and, soon enough I found myself smirking. After a minute I heard, “Abby? That you?” coming from upstairs, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps descending my staircase.

“Hey, Dave,” I answered as I set Eggy down.

Dave McKenzie is my handyman. He’s like a freeze frame from the movie
Easy Rider,
tall with broad shoulders and long blond hair braided down his back into a fine point, thick beard and mustache, abused shirts, ripped jeans and a chain connecting his wallet to his belt loop. Up close, however, are the telltale signs of decades passing, with hints of gray in his beard and sideburns, permanent crow’s-feet lining his eyes and the slightly rounded belly of a man in his mid-fifties.

In early March I’d purchased a home that had “lots of potential,” only to discover I was in way over my head. A client who knew someone who knew someone gave me Dave’s number, and I’d called him in desperation. He’d been a complete godsend, turning my dilapidated little bungalow into a cozy home sweet home.

My home had once been a ranch until the former owner added a staircase and converted half of the attic into a bedroom. Because the bedroom was small, and I really didn’t need the extra storage I was having Dave extend my bedroom by tearing down the wall that separated the attic from the bedroom. Of late he’d been busy ripping out the old insulation in the attic.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Getting there,” he said noncommittally. Squinting his eyes my way, he added, “You look like hell.”

“Gee,” I said flatly, “try not to bowl me over with so much flattery.”

“No, really, you look like crap. What happened?”

“The shorter answer would be to tell you what
didn’t
happen,” I said, turning toward the kitchen to get Eggy his supper.

“That bad, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve renamed today ‘Black Thursday,’ ” I said as I got down a can of dog food.

“So I guess I should wait till tomorrow to fill you in on the attic?”

I stopped fussing with Eggy’s dinner and glanced sharply at Dave. “What about the attic?”

“It’s nothing I can’t fix. . . .”

Eggy barked, reminding me that I was holding up his dinner, so I got out the can opener and said casually, “I’m assuming that’s the good news. Care to share the bad news with me now?”

Shuffling his feet, Dave said, “Fine, I’ll give it to you straight. When I took the old insulation down I noticed quite a bit of water damage to the rafters. It looks like the old owner waited about twenty years too long to redo the roof, so I’m probably going to have to take down about three-quarters of the rafters and replace them.”

I groaned as I set Eggy’s food down on the floor, then stood back up and closed my eyes as I asked, “How much?”

“Good question. The short answer is, I’m not really sure. It might not be as bad as I think, and it could be only the one small section I’ve uncovered so far. . . .”

My radar buzzed in and I said, “No, it’s bad. Trust me, it’s bad.”

Dave looked at me with compassion and sighed. “Why don’t I go to Home Depot in the morning and see if I can’t work out some deal on the wood? I’ll try to cut you a break on the labor too.”

I forced myself to smile then; Dave worked for fifteen paltry dollars an hour, and was always trying to shave time off the clock. He was a generous, good-natured man who had also become a close friend, so for his sake I put on my acting face. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s no problem, really. Besides, I’m working a big party tomorrow night, and that should go a long way toward helping out with the repairs. Really, it’s fine. I was just curious.”

“All right, then, I’ll get started on that tomorrow. I’ll have to take down all the insulation in the attic, so your bedroom could get pretty cold until I’m finished.”

“No problem. I’ve got plenty of comforters and blankets. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then,” Dave said, rocking on his heels and looking for a way to drop the topic. “I should be shoving off. Don’t want the old lady to throw a fit if I’m late for dinner.” His casual remark about his common-law wife didn’t phase me. I knew Dave was completely devoted to her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I walked him out.

After he’d gone I went back to the kitchen and opened up the fridge, checking the contents for something edible. I had a carton of eggs, soy milk, ketchup, half a jar of sweet pickles and bagels. Cathy wasn’t the only one who put off grocery shopping. Sighing, I got out the frying pan and scrambled some eggs. Eggy stood at attention by my feet while I cooked. His love for eggs had been the inspiration for his name, so after I’d shoveled some eggs onto a plate for me, I gave him a small portion, and we ate in companionable silence.